


Battle Scars

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Not much blood but some
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Jason's siblings discover his autopsy scar.





	Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this as an ask post on Tumblr like a year ago, found the post again, and was like "ah, what the heck" and posted it here on a whim after some brief editing.

Jason breathed heavily, keeping his cool. The bullet he’d taken only minutes ago already burned something fierce, and he was pretty sure his shirt had been just about soaked with blood by then. 

It wasn’t even anyone remotely dangerous who’d shot him: an average mugger who clearly had no idea how to use a gun. The guy had run away the second he fired the bullet, tail between his legs and everything. Had Jason not been preoccupied with a bleeding bullet wound, he’d probably have gone after the asshole and given him a piece of his mind. (And maybe a broken kneecap or two.)

 _“Hood, you there? Just checking in,”_ a voice said from the comms. Jason thanked his lucky stars that he’d gone on patrol with the few of his family members who had chosen not to take the night off for Bruce’s charity gala. Failing to hold in a groan, Jason reached the communicator on his helmet. 

“Ngh. Hey, Nightwing, How’s it hanging? I’m good, sort of,” he answered, voice level in spite of the pain. 

Dick paused. _“What happened?”_

Jason half-smiled. “I might have been shot a little bit. No big.” 

Dick cursed and Jason heard him talk to someone in the background. Probably either Tim or Cass, who went with them that night. _“Where are you?”_ Dick demanded, in full Batman Mode now. 

The blood loss made his head just a bit foggy, so it took a second to remember. “Uh…The alley by the corner of Cabell and Hornestead, I think.” More muttering on the line. In the meantime, Jason tried sitting up, but he fell back just as quickly with a groan. It felt like there was fire smoldering down his chest. 

_“We’re on our way,”_ Dick said. _“How badly are you hurt?”_

Jason closed his eyes as he answered. “GSW to the chest. I think it’s right over my right pec, not too deep. It’s bleeding a lot, but I don’t think it’s more than a flesh wound. Be fine with a quick patch-up. Hurts like hell, though.” He punctuated that with another groan. 

_“We’ll be there in two minutes. Just hang on till then, okay?”_

Jason mumbled a tired, “Yeah, ‘kay,” and tried to get a look at the wound himself. He pulled off his helmet, exposing his face to the cool Gotham air. He craned his neck to see, but just raising his chest made the wound throb even worse. 

Instead, he focused on some breathing exercises that Bruce had taught him long ago to manage the pain. He did that for a couple minutes, listening attentively for his family’s arrival. After a while they ran into the alley: Nightwing, Red Robin, and Black Bat. 

At once, Tim kneeled down beside him and examined the wound while Cass rummaged around in her belt for medical supplies. Dick got Jason’s attention. “Jay, you still doing okay?” 

Jason gave him a thumbs up. “Fit as a fiddle, bro.” 

But then he felt Tim start to lift up his shirt, and Jason paled—this time not from the blood loss. His hand shot up to grab Tim’s wrist. “Hold on, what the hell are you doing?” 

“I need to get a better look at the injury,” Tim explained like it were obvious, which it was. But Jason shook his head. It wasn’t until that moment he realized part of getting the gunshot treated meant exposing his chest. _Big_ nope. 

“Nuh-uh, just take me home and I’ll fix it myself. Or call Roy, he can do it.” Jason pulled himself up until he was leaning on his elbows. The pain was excruciating, but he bit back a moan behind his gritted teeth. He resisted against the hands pushing him back down. 

Dick’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Knock it off, Jay, just let us help. What, you really can’t let anybody help you?” 

Jason didn’t bother telling him that wasn’t it. He felt Tim tugging up the hem of his shirt again, and he swatted him away. “Seriously, Tim, cut it out. I’m not kidding.” 

Tim sighed and sat back on his knees with his arms folded across his chest. “Okay, I’m used to you being stubborn and all, but this isn’t funny anymore. Why don’t you want me taking off your shirt?” 

Jason bit the inside of his cheek. He knew they wouldn’t relent without an explanation, but he _definitely_ didn’t want them to see what he was hiding. So he settled for a half-truth. “Listen, after what happened with the Joker, my body is sort of…broken. So, unless you’d all love to see a bunch of scars and stuff, I suggest you back off and let me handle this on my own. Capisce?” 

Tim shrugged. “Jay, we’ve all got scars. Comes with the job.” He reached again for Jason’s shirt, but Jason growled. “Shirt stays down.” Oh, how he wished he had just taken care of this himself without calling them. He’d gladly risk bleeding out in favor of being scrutinized like this. 

Dick grabbed Jason’s arm, holding it down. “Please, Jason, just let us see the wound. We don’t care about any scars or whatever, okay? And if you don’t let us see it you’re either going to bleed out or get an infection. Please.” Ever the peacemaker. 

Jason clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt. Slamming his head back on the ground, he gave in. “Fine,” he snapped. “But you asked for it.” 

Tim sighed thankfully and used a batarang to cut Jason’s shirt up the middle. Jason felt cold air sting his chest at the same time he heard three collective gasps. _Told ya so,_ he thought. 

“Holy—” Tim choked. 

“Jason,” Dick breathed as his eyes roamed his brother’s chest. “What _happened_ to you?” 

Littering Jason’s chest were dozens of scars. They ranged from gunshot wounds, to burns, to long slashes that felt painful just by looking at them. One couldn’t go more than two inches without finding a scar. Zsasz would have been impressed. And the amount of scars alone wasn’t even what so horribly caught his siblings’ attention. 

No, the worst was the largest one; a long scar that stretched all the way up Jason’s middle, taking the spotlight. It went from his navel to his sternum before branching off into two separate lines that ended at his shoulder joints. The scar was long and thick. It looked like it was made with almost medical precision, which was unusual compared to the other messy scars scattered on his body. 

The gunshot wound was nearly forgotten in comparison to the scar, so awful it was impossible not to focus on it. 

Cass pulled down her cowl, revealing her shocked expression. Eyes wide, she reached out and touched the scar, running one cold finger along the length of it. Jason shuddered. 

Cass met his eyes. “You were hurt,” she said quietly. 

Jason shrugged, but winced when it stung. “Not really. I mean, I was dead at the time, so…” He trailed off, averting his eyes. He chose to stare at the sky instead of his siblings. 

And that was when it clicked. Tim’s jaw dropped as his eyes traced the scar. “This is from your autopsy,” he realized. Jason nodded wordlessly. 

He felt oddly ashamed, like it was his fault he had this mark, though he knew that wasn’t true. Still, he wished to be covered up again, away from the prodding eyes. He coughed conscientiously. “Hey, if you’re all finished with the horror movie, this still kind of hurts,” he said pointedly. 

Tim didn’t move. He was still frozen, eyes stuck on the scar. Dick nudged him, and he blinked. “S-sorry,” he stuttered. He returned to Jason’s wound, but he was distracted. His eyes would repeatedly find the scar and linger for a second before flickering away, over and over again. 

There wasn’t much noise after that besides Tim muttering to himself as he worked and the sound of traffic drifting through the city. Tim had some difficulty removing the bullet, explaining it had gotten caught on some tissue. Jason groaned at every stab of pain while the kid rummaged around the site. What he wouldn’t have given to have Alfred there instead. 

“Hey, Jason?” Dick asked finally, breaking the lengthy silence. 

Jason hissed from Tim’s prodding. “What?” he said through clenched teeth. 

“How come the Lazarus pit didn’t heal the scars? I thought it fixed all your injuries from…you know.” 

Jason considered not answering, but thought better of it when he realized it wasn’t like he had anything to hide anymore. “I dunno, maybe it works differently on scars. Never really thought about it before.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Though I always thought injuries made after death would heal better in the pit than ones from before, but I guess not. I always hated it, to be honest.” 

Dick tilted his head curiously. “Why?” 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Dude, I’ve got a freaking autopsy scar on my chest. Every morning when I look in the mirror, I’m forced to see proof that I died. Proof that a crazy guy dressed like a clown woke up one day and decided, ‘Hey, you know what might be fun today? Killing a child.’ Proof that after said death, I had a bunch of people cutting me open and poking around my insides to figure out exactly how the psycho murdered me. So yeah, I think I have pretty good reason to hate the scar.” 

Dick’s following silence had Jason hoping the subject might finally be put to rest. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t his day for small blessings. 

“To be honest, I kind of thought you’d be proud of it,” Dick said. 

Jason sighed, thoroughly done with this conversation. “And why is that?” 

Dick shrugged. “It’s like your battle scar. Sure, it’s proof that you got killed and all, but it’s also proof that you overcame something as powerful as death itself. If it were me, I’d be showing off that scar to everyone I meet. It’s like you have the last laugh, in a way.” 

Jason considered that, but changed the subject before he could think about it too deeply. “You almost done there, Tim? I’m freezing my ass off over here.” He muffled a shout when a sudden stab of pain rushed through him. 

Tim held up the blood-covered bullet proudly. “Got it,” he grinned. He applied a dressing to the wound, then pocketed the bullet. “I’m keeping this, by the way.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and attempted to sit up, being careful of the bandages. He swayed unsteadily, so Dick supported him until he was righted. It was freezing now that he had no shirt, and he couldn’t go all the way back to the manor like this. Especially when Bruce was already hosting a big flashy party there. “Listen, I’ve got an apartment a couple blocks away. I think it’d be better if I just went there instead of all the way across Gotham.” 

Dick opened his mouth to object, but Jason interrupted. “Dude, I’m gonna scare people like this. And, as funny as it would be, I don’t think Bruce would want rumors of a zombie at Wayne Manor circulating around Gotham.” 

Dick pursed his lips, but relented. “Fine.” Then, after a moment of thought: “Then we’ll just crash at your place tonight.” 

“Excuse me? I don’t recall inviting you.” 

“It would be irresponsible to leave you alone with a hole in your chest,” Tim pointed out, all too smug. “Plus, I know for a fact you have an entire cabinet full of Oreos in your kitchen, and I think I deserve a reward for digging a bullet out of you.” 

Cass nodded at the mention of Oreos. “Me too.” 

Jason heaved a sigh. “Fine, fine, whatever, you little gremlins. But on one condition, ‘kay? Not a word to anyone about my scar. Got it?” 

“Not that we ever would, but why not?” Dick asked. 

“Because if Bruce finds out he’s going to be all moody and goddamn annoying about it. The only other people besides me who know about this are Roy and Alfred, and now it’s bad enough that the three of you know too. So lips stay sealed.” 

Satisfied when he was met with three nods, Jason turned on his heel and started in the direction of his apartment, beckoning them to follow. He kept his hand pressed carefully over the field dressing and pulled the edges of his jacket closer together to hide his middle. 

It felt strange, having them see his scar. Embarrassing, sure. But, in a way, there was a weight off his shoulders now that he hadn’t been aware he’d been carrying. 

Sure, dying sucked, and coming back to life had sucked even more, but the autopsy scar was different. It wasn’t only a reminder of the worst day of his life—it was like a taunt. It was death having the last laugh. _You might have escaped me this time, but I won’t let you forget for a day of your life that I still won._ It was proof that he’d fucked up bad enough to get himself killed in the process. 

And for years, he’d assumed sharing this would make his siblings think less of him. They’d see him for what he was: broken, damaged, defeated. 

Yet, shockingly enough, if anything, they now viewed him as someone who beat death itself. The scar wasn’t only a reminder; it was a battle scar. It was his mark, telling the world that anyone who tried to knock him down would find it impossible, because Jason Todd couldn’t be beaten. Jason Todd was a survivor. 

As he walked, Jason found himself standing a little straighter as that thought resonated in his head. 

He was a survivor.

**Author's Note:**

> Bye.


End file.
